


the truth about love

by newsiees



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, badly translated italian, mild mentions of homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 16:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11062743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsiees/pseuds/newsiees
Summary: Mr. and Mrs. Higgins meet Race for the first time.





	the truth about love

Wind pushed against any second thoughts, whispering taunts and epithets of cowardice. Commitment had been confirmed. They had volunteered themselves to rejection.

Spot glanced at Race, forcing himself not to be tense. Race was worried enough, anxiously tapping his foot as he looked at the world outside of the car window through unfocused eyes.

The wind was rustling the auburn leaves of the highway trees, disturbing their comfortable peace. Spot scowled at the crackling branches. They didn’t know upheaval. They weren’t driving their boyfriend to his parent’s house for an Italian Catholic Sunday dinner. Trees didn’t need to come out to their parents. How rude of them to even tremor. 

The New York suburb of Race’s childhood was just forty five minutes out of Brooklyn, just forty five minutes from the dorm which Spot and Race shared. Race’s parents were delighted that Race had found a closeby college with friends whom he could be close with. They were pleased when Race had asked them if Spot could come over for dinner. It would have been a disgrace to lines of ancestors if Race had left his roommate without dinner on a Sunday. He had to come.

But Race knew he had to be honest. Race knew who he was. Race knew what Spot meant to him. Race knew that last night’s sleepless thoughts of self-encouragement had made him as ready as he knew he ever would be. Race did not know, however, what would come of his open revelation.

The green sign screamed at the pair from overhead. Exit 43. Ten minutes left.

Spot reached to Race’s knee, resting the back of his hand on the fabric and inviting Race’s fingers to join his own. 

“How you doing?”

Race felt the warmth and pressure of Spot’s hand before turning towards the driver’s seat to respond.

“I am preparing for the world to end.”

Spot chuckled, eyes still on the road as he guided Race’s hand to his lips.

“Happily?”

“With you?” Race joked, quivering in his smile.

Spot turned slightly to raise his eyebrows at Race.

Race sighed, “This is gonna happen. I just gotta...do it.”

Spot smiled, though grim. His grin was trapped beneath the windshield, as the outside world was full of ridiculously typical family homes. One on the left, two on the right. Backyard on the left, helmeted family biking on the right. Race was looking green. 

“That one. Pull in there.”

Spot obeyed the quiet voice and rounded into the drive. Park. Brake. Engine off.

Their hands were curled into each other, together, empowering.

“I love you.” Race quaked.

Spot lifted the corner of his mouth. An unsteady breath with a safe, present clutch of hands.

Spot let Race open his own door and enter his old world. His feet traced his childhood steps, with the foreign Spot balancing slowly behind. Race took a deep breath as he lifted his hand, curled into a cold, distant fist. One last glance at Spot for lovely fortitude. He would knock. He would, he would-

“Antonio! Amore mio, oh, come here.”

Race was stunned into a hug, hand still clenched in preparation for the latent knock that never came. He peered bashfully at Spot through a hole in the entwined embrace, receiving a jesting eyebrow raise in response.

“Oh, Antonio. I heard your car pull into the driveway and I could not wait. It’s so wonderful to see you!” 

Race weaved his way out of the hug, still holding his mother’s arms as she grasped his.

“Hi, mamma.”

“Oh, it’s so good to see you.”

“You too, mamma,” Race replied, wanting to mean it. His mother’s eyes were so warm and her hands so protecting. He wished he could be what she wanted. 

“Oh, and this must be Sean! It’s so nice to meet you, come here!.” She jerked Spot into a hug, drowning his thin Irish bones in Italian skin. Race laughed and felt too comfortable. He was glad he was who he was, if only to love this moment. 

She gripped Spot’s shoulders as she let go, veiling his shaking muscles with her wild grip. 

“Come, we must eat!”

Race brushed Spot’s hand as he lead him into the foyer. It was full of framed photographs of gap-toothed school pictures, lining a white hallway that led to a cornucopian kitchen. Spot smirked at the young face of Race before turning to the grown, slightly flustered countenance. Race was composed enough to wink at Spot before his mother whirled around to haul the boys to the dining room table.

The table was set, with wildflowers in a sky vase in the center. Clean chinets were placed on vinyl mats at four seats. One end was empty and the opposite was full of a wide man. He had thick eyebrows that were set atop his eyes, comfortably judging with authority.

“Hello, Antonio. How are you?”

It seemed like Race should have bowed or offered a sacrifice. But he just grinned carefully and chuckled a bit.

“Hey, Dad. I’m good, thanks. It’s good to see you.”

Spot smiled at the scene. He’s sure he saw this in a classic sentimental painting. Alas, he knows there is more beyond the ornamental frame.

Mr. Higgins shook Race’s hand, crinkling his eyes though hiding his closed-mouth smile beneath his pruned moustache.

“You must be Sean.”

Spot froze in the shadow of the door frame. He let his eyes seek comfort in Race before balancing his body on his spine, assuming military posture. 

“Yes, sir. It’s nice to meet you...sir.”

Race rolled his eyes, too fond to notice how awkward the communication was. Mr. Higgins just chuckled, like a mafia gangster might, and reached out his hand. He was not leaving the head of the table.

“And you. I am glad that Antonio got a roommate that he didn’t hate.”

Spot raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah...me too?”

Mr. Higgins chuckled again in the same gruff, superior manner.

“Good kid.”

Mrs. Higgins shuffled in with too many dishes of various sauced foods.

“Sit down, boys, eat!!!” 

The smell forced them to oblige.

After dinner, they sat around the dirty dishes, laughing over small talk. Spot hadn’t said a word, only listening to Race relax. Spot had heard of storytimes and holidays and game nights and laughter. Race loved his parents and his parents loved the Antonio they knew, Spot knew that much from his first loud, Italian dinner. If only love lasted.

“So, Mamma...Dad...I have something...to tell you guys.”

He looked at them, eyes naturally drifting to meet Spot’s as they moved from his sauce-soaked plate to the dark eyes of his parents. 

“Antonio?” His mother leaned onto her toes, ready to leap into a comforting hug or a defensive battle. His father’s expression remained blank, hidden behind thick walls of shadowed hair.

“I’m…” His eyes left the room. “I’m really happy to be here...at home...here...with you guys.”

Spot’s exhale surprised him.

Race’s mother leaned back, clutching her hands to her heart.

“Oh, Antonio!”

“He just wants to get out of doing the dishes,” Mr. Higgins retorted, mustache twitching with a scoff.

Race laughed timorously and looked down. Spot’s skin itched.

“Oh, be quiet. He’s worked hard and deserves a break. You boys go on upstairs. Your video games are still plugged in, Antonio. Allora avanti! Go on!”

Race looked at Spot and Spot looked back, both too stunned to grin. Slow motion filtered their movements as they pushed in their chairs and left the dining room. Spot murmured an unheard thank you before following Race out of the room and up a set of carpeted beige stairs.

One corner turned and a door opened before Spot was leaning against a navy wall, watching Race shove his hands in his pockets and sit on his bed.

Spot chuckled at Race’s careful smile, leaning his head back against the cold wall. Turning, he watched Race’s childhood unfold on the walls. Calendars with ancient years, photographs of laughing boys, band posters.

“Thank you for coming with me.” Race breathed, rocking the springs so that they screamed.

“Not a problem.” Spot slowly led his legs lead him across the room. “So I heard video games.”

The two took themselves to a bean bag for some Mario Kart, which Spot lost miserably because “They don’t call me Race for nothing!”

Race had leaned into Spot’s shoulder, laughing in his ear. Spot’s raised hair chilled his body. He had left his skin in Brooklyn. His tongue chapped his lips, anticipating interruption. He would not kiss Race, he would not kiss Race, “Swept the round again, Spot!”, God, he wanted to kiss Race...

“Ciao, boys! Dinner is all cleaned up, come down for dessert!” Mrs. Higgins broke the fragile safety. Spot’s blood left him. 

“Sweet, Mamma, thanks.” Race was getting up, smiling at his mother, eyes away. Mrs. Higgins smiled, pleased, and returned downstairs.

Race gave Spot his hand, raising Spot from the engulfing bean bag to stand in front of him, so close he could have felt Spot’s breath if he wasn’t holding it.

“Hey.”

Exhale.

“Hey.”

“We should probably get going in a bit, if we want to leave before five,” Race said to Spot’s eyes.

“Yeah.”

“I find it amusing how much more composed I am than you. This is my coming-out dinner.” Race was joking, fingers following familiar patterns on Spot’s palm.

“I’m nervous so you don’t have to be. It’s called support, Racetrack.”

Race laughed, letting his lips find Spot’s cheek in less than a moment, before tugging Spot towards the door.

“C’mon. I miss biscotti.” 

Spot watched Race walk to the door, toes curling around nineties carpet.

“They love you, you know.”

Race didn’t turn around.

“Yeah. For now.”

Mr. Higgins hadn’t moved. Spot spent the first few minutes of dessert trying to guess how tall he was while Mrs. Higgins entertained herself with Race’s academic affairs, proud and contented. Race was telling his plate of biscotti his grades.

“And you, Sean, what are you doing at school?”

Spot’s nerve ran around the house. Upon its return, he cleared his throat. 

“English.”

Mrs. Higgins’ pink face rounded as she smiled, but Mr. Higgins spoke first.

“English?”

Spot felt his blood pool in his feet. Maybe he’d melt.

“Uh...yeah. I like to read, sir. Mister.” Men horrified Spot. How ironic. 

Mr. Higgins only nodded as Mrs. Higgins fussed.

“Don’t let him frighten you, caro. He used to read plenty before numbers and math took over. Reading is so cute!”

Spot blinked.

“Er...thanks.”

“I have a boyfriend.” 

Slow followed the rapid confession. Not one heart dared to beat.

“Sean. Sean is my boyfriend.” Race was only loud enough to be audible, unwilling to repeat himself. 

Mr. Higgins choked on his throat’s surprise, murmuring “Jesus Christ.”

Mrs. Higgins veiled her eyes, pressing them tight, pressing her mouth tight. Silence. Spot responded to their silence with silence. Race tried to do the same, but was breathing too hard.

“We should go,” Race stuttered and stood, pursuing Spot’s willing hand and planning to be in Brooklyn by the end of the minute.

“Antonio?” The tense air pressed the word to Race. He froze at the front door, his old front door, the entrance and the exit.

“Yes?” Spot only saw Race’s words. 

“Where are you going?”

“Back to school.” If Race closed his eyes, they would release his years of disguise. His mother looked back at him.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

Spot stepped forward, building protection, prevention. Race let himself slink into his next words.

“I don’t want there to be a first time that I am hurt by my parents.” 

Mrs. Higgins felt her heart twitch.

“I don’t want to hurt you. If you left now, you would be making that decision for me.”

“But God...the crosses...saying grace before meals, going to Church every week, sin, sin, _sin_.” Race’s skin inundated red. Spot used his wrists to tie his hands unmoving.

Mrs. Higgins took her son’s hand, looking to Spot before contact. He raised his chin, watching so she knew she was being watched. He was there. 

“My God believes in love.”

Race’s heart hovered and soared, ending in a gripping hug with his mother, his first hug.

Alive in the foyer, they all caught sight of Mr. Higgins, standing for the first time at the end of the hallway. He was taller, scarier than Spot had expected.

“Thank you, Antonio, for telling us.”

Race blinked, embracing his tears now and letting his years of loneliness dance away.

Race tripped over to his father and grasped the beginning around his wide shoulders.

“It’ll…” Mr. Higgins cleared his throat, trying hard to find appropriate words. “It’ll take some time before I’m used to this. Before I get it right.” 

“I’m glad that we have time.” Mr. Higgins let his arms down and hugged his son back.

Spot suddenly realized he was being hugged by Race’s mother, listening to Italian words in a sweet, desperate voice. She smelt like pasta sauce, the same pasta sauce Race made on rainy weekends. He felt his life rewind and start again, with hugs. 

After Race had embraced his parents a few times more, words light and light bright, his hand joined Spot’s.

“Thank you for dinner, mamma. We’ll come back.”

“Grazie, amore miei.” My loves.

They floated down the walkway, together. Spot thought once and opened Race’s door for him. Race waved at his parents through the windshield as Spot walked around the back of the car to the driver’s side, never planning on standing between family.

Race stared at his house through bright eyes, through the chipping garage door, through the freshly opened walls, to freshly opened hearts.

Spot started Race’s car, an old friend from the gift of high school years.

His hand rested on the gear shift. Race’s hand rested upon Spot’s.

Spot looked towards Race, Race looked towards Spot. They both looked towards the future.

Spot smiled and laughed a little.

“Well, that went well.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! <3  
> lots of love.
> 
> tumblr: newsiees


End file.
